


"Shadows"

by Vanishershade



Category: Life on Mars
Genre: Free Verse, Gene Hunt in Despair, Life on Mars - Freeform, M/M, Sam Tyler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:43:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanishershade/pseuds/Vanishershade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene Hunt, reflecting on Sam after he is yanked back to 2006.  Of course, from Gene's perspective, Sam simply disappeared, and after he had seemed to be making peace with himself and his life, no less. Sam had also been drawing out Gene's inner nature, and allowing him to express himself more.  This is Gene, now alone, and trying to resolve his loss of the man who was educating him about his own inner self...</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Shadows"

“SHADOWS” 

 

by VANISHERSHADE

 

A poem describing the time after Sam had vanished from 1973, from Gene’s perspective. Free verse.

 

***

The sound of me shoes on the cobbles reminds me of the lateness of the hour.

 

I can hear the grit grinding beneath the soles with each step, a sound usually lost 

 

In the din of daylight noise.

 

The alley behind the pub is as clean as the landlord can manage in this quarter,

 

The shadows cast by moonlight pitch black.

 

I can taste the stench of the city air, my city,

 

Smell the river, off some, and the tang of ripe garbage, nearer,

 

And as I pause to light up, I wonder why I can’t feel you?

 

You are not dead. That I cannot, will not accept.

 

But you evaporated out of me life like smoke, boy. Here one day,

 

And gone like a drunken memory the next.

 

Makes me feel…I don’t know how to say, in a way that doesn’t 

 

Sound bloody nancy.

 

The smoke curls into my lungs, sweet and bitter all at once.

 

Like havin’ you ‘ere, -- sweet and bitter, sharp and mellow.

 

A fighter, a compatriot, one who held the key to parts of me

 

I can’t unlock on me own.

 

You were that key, Sammy-Boy. And I was lookin’ forward to you makin’ me

 

Search through my own puzzle box, to find what lay at the center.

 

Been years now, since you went away. I go about the routine of my life now,

 

Waitin’ to run into you everywhere. I go to work, to the Arms,

 

Nowhere new, in case I miss it when you come home.

 

Yes, I said it; home. I thought you hated it ‘ere, until I learned better.

 

But hell, I believed you hated me, until I finally understood; that this had become

 

Home for yeh,

 

Just like I had become home to yeh, your keen protector, or so I believed.

 

Damn it, boy! What did I do to make you go?

 

That head of yours, gears always mashin,’ so crowded with thoughts—

 

How do I know you didn’t finally get lost in your own mind,

 

And wander off to chase dragons? 

 

I finish my fag, toss the butt aside. I slick my tongue over dry, straight teeth,

 

Imaginin’ I can taste you there, and not just stale whiskey and cigarette smoke.

 

How did I fail you, Sam? Did the shadows finally catch up, because I got 

 

Complacent, and wasn’t paying mind?

 

I hate the silence in my life, the emptiness I go home to,

 

The cold vacuum I lie beside each night, that I awaken to every mornin’.

 

I put my hands in the pockets of the old Camel’s hair, the one I should have

 

Replaced years ago, the one you and I made love on once.

 

I swear on my life, some days I can catch your scent down in its fibers,

 

A dying dream.

 

Shite. Go home, Gene. Wash off the stink of the pub. Sam always hated 

 

To smell the Railway Arms in your hair at night.

 

Get into bed and stare at the ceiling, until the shadows are sent packing at dawn,

 

And feign another day of giving a damn.

 

And I will.

 

FIN


End file.
